Boy Toy

I’m Alana, and this is my story. I’m a 35 year-old widow living quietly in the
hills of Los Angeles. I’m also a hot, slutty, predatory Boy Toy Slut. I wasn’t
always this way. It happened slowly, then suddenly, beginning with those damn
mysterious blackouts ………………..
It was autumn, and my son Jeff had just moved out to live on-campus for his
college education. He had a double major of chemistry and psychology, but he
didn’t know what kind of career he would pursue. His dorm wasn’t more than 10
minutes from my beautiful 3,500 square foot home, but I didn’t expect to see
much of him now that he was in school. Jeff was a sweet boy, tall and buff, with
a thick head of dark hair. He dated some in high school, but never had a steady
girlfriend. I encouraged him to find a nice girl, but he always told me he was
“waiting for the special one.” I didn’t know entirely what he meant at the time.
I lived alone, quietly, in my spacious pool home in the Los Angeles hills. My
husband, a man whom I loved dearly, had died three years earlier in an
industrial accident. With a good attorney and some patience, I collected a
sizable settlement and settled down to a peaceful, uneventful retirement. I
killed time in the usual ways, I worked out at a local gym with some of my
married girlfriends, and volunteered with some local community groups, and even
went out occasionally with some friends, but I was hardly interested in men. I
had had plenty of experience when I was a teen, and got pregnant with Jeff at
17, and after that I devoted myself to my husband and my son. I saw no need to
enter the meat market of California dating. I was more or less contented with my
lot in life, lonely as it was.
I didn’t hear from Jeff for a month after he moved out. I called him a few times
at his dorm, but he was never there and he didn’t return my phone calls. His
roommate told me he was extremely busy with an important project with the
Chemistry Department and hardly ever came back to the room. I believed some of
that, as Jeff was always a hard worker and devoted to this studies, but he could
have least returned a call or two.
Then I heard from him. He said he was doing fine and suggested he stop by the
house for a quick get together to catch up on things. Fine with me, I said, and
the next Wednesday he stopped by late in the afternoon. He came in, gave me a
hug, and we went to the kitchen to have some coffee. I was slumming around the
house in my usual baggy jeans and floppy tee shirt, no make-up, my long hair
pulled up on top of my head. Jeff told me about his dorm, and his roommate, and
some of his professors. Not having gone to college, it meant little to me, but
Jeff seemed very interested and energetic. He also seemed very tan, which seemed
strange as he was supposedly working so much indoors, and he also seemed somehow
bigger, more manly. But these thoughts passed through my mind quickly. I brought
out some coffee and we sat and talked.
“Mom,” he said, “you look a little run down.”
I had been busy with some clubs recently, and was a bit tired, but I certainly
didn’t consider it anything to be concerned about.
“Here, let me put some of this in your coffee and it will energize you a bit.”
I watched as he pulled out a small package and emptied some sparkling sugar-like
powder into my coffee.
“What is it?” I asked, taking a sip.
“Oh, it’s just some sugar substitute that our department has developed. It
hasn’t been patented yet, but it has all the advantages of some of the other
sugar substitutes and no side effects. I think you’ll like it.”
I smiled and drank my coffee. We talked some more and I told Jeff it would be
nice if he returned at least some of my phone calls. He assured me he would in
the future.
It was then I had my first blackout. I checked with Jeff later and he assured me
nothing unusual had happened, and that it must be some kind of dream or
flashback and not to worry about it. I don’t remember anything about the rest of
Jeff’s visit, or his leaving, or what I did for the better part of three hours.
I remember vaguely a voice, a voice that said it was “my Friend,” a “very
special and important Friend.” I had no idea what this meant, or where it had
come from, and it disturbed me a little bit. But that is how I would come to
know my voice, as “my Friend.” I tried so hard to remember what my Friend had
told me, but I only recalled sentence fragments and a few, random words. “Friend
…… hot …… need ….. Now …… yours ……… badly …….. Slut
…… hotter.” It didn’t make any sense to me, and aside from a feeling of
vague uncertainty, I put it out of my mind. I was probably just lonely, I was
probably just imagining things.
I also made an appointment with Gina at Foxxy Hair. She didn’t usually do my
hair, but Cheryl used her and Cheryl had great looking hair, a nice cut and
fabulous color. My hair was still long, hanging to my breasts, but it was
straggly and discolored, badly out of shape. I wanted something nice, something
together, something hot.
In what was to become more or less routine, Jeff showed up at the house two days
later. It was late in the afternoon, and we again had some coffee in the kitchen
and exchanged some small talk. He again offered me some sugar substitute and I
dropped some in my coffee and gulped it down. It did seem to give me an added
charge of energy and I liked it. Jeff commented on my hair, the layered cut with
blonde highlights, full with lots of volume, and said he liked it. I liked it
too; Gina had done a great job, and when I came home from my appointment I must
have spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror admiring myself. I hadn’t looked
this good in years and it gave me a badly needed lift.
Jeff told me he would be coming out over the weekend. He said it was important
to him to keep close ties with me and see me often so we wouldn’t slip apart
while he was in school. I had the same thoughts, and I warmed when he said this.
I gave him a small kiss on the cheek and smiled. I asked him to stop by on
Sunday afternoon. Then, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, another blackout came
over me; my Friend was talking to me again. I don’t remember what he said — it
was definitely a male voice — but I know I felt good and wanted to hear more. I
couldn’t remember exactly what was said, or even how long I blacked out, but I
could remember the tone of the voice and some words, words like “gorgeous …..
Hot …. Needy ….. Now …… slut …… hair …… moist.”
I couldn’t make head or tails out of what was happening to me, and thought
perhaps I should go see my personal physician, Dr. Boykin. I may have some
medical condition, or a strange allergy, or my diet may be affecting my system.
I certainly had never experienced anything like this before. I toyed with the
idea of calling Dr. Boykin, then I called Jan at the Nail Depot to make an
appointment for the next day to have my nails done.
When I got home, I was ecstatic about the nail job, an inch long acrylic with
blue and gold highlights. So foxy. Then I emptied my shopping bag and began
sorting through the jewelry I had picked out at the boutique next to Jan’s
salon. It was all gold, some bracelets, necklaces, ankle bracelets, earrings,
and some rings, even a toe ring. I put two of the ankle bracelets on my left
leg, and tried on some of the rings. The gold rings looked great with my new
nails. I left three on and put the rest in my jewelry case. Then I picked up the
store receipt for $343.00 and threw it in the wastepaper basket. I needed to
spend some of my cash reserve on my foxy self, I knew that. Gina had said as
much some weeks ago, and Jan certainly agreed.
Sunday came around and so did Jeff. He looked so good with his body tan. I was
certainly proud to be his mother. It looked like he was working out too, his
chest and biceps rippling under his linen shirt. I asked him if he had been
working out and he just said, “a little.” I smiled in pride and dropped some of
his sugar substitute into my coffee and drank it down. It worked like a charm,
again. I felt a surge of sweet energy in my brain and everything looked so good,
so right, much better than it had just a few weeks before.
I thanked Jeff for the sparkling powder and he just smiled and said he didn’t
have very much, but he would share as much as he could with me. I hoped so; it
was great stuff. We sat on the patio around the pool, and Jeff made me a gin and
tonic. He took off his shirt and sunned himself. He must have been working out;
his pecs were perfect, buff and tanned. My energy increased and I felt great. It
was funny, but I had another blackout then; I don’t remember the rest of the
afternoon, or Jeff leaving. I just remember my Friend, and his soothing voice,
and some words, not even sentences, all I could remember were those quiet,
powerful words; “slut …. Sex …… clothes ….. Hot …… need …… cock
……. Gorgeous.”
It made absolutely no sense to me, but it was that evening that I began my
masturbation jags, cumming and cumming for at least two hours that night alone.
I had never done that before, but my energy was overpowering me and I just
couldn’t keep my new nails off of my painfully engorged clit. I pinched it, and
fondled it, and caressed it, and loved it. I slept better that night than I had
in the longest time.
I needed my sleep, because I worked the next two days cleaning out my closet. My
wardrobe disgusted me. Baggy jeans, tennis shoes, old tank tops, frumpy blouses,
I couldn’t believe I wore that kind of crap. I gathered it all together and
drove it straight to the Goodwill store at the mall. They couldn’t believe I was
donating so much. I couldn’t believe I even owned the stuff. I went straight
into the mall and started to visit some nice shoe stores and women’s boutiques.
I spent that afternoon and the whole next day shopping and buying, buying and
shopping.
Then I organized my closet for my new clothes. I put my platforms and thigh-high
boots on the left lower; I really liked the red patent thigh-highs and it took a
lot of willpower to take them off and put them in the closet. I counted 17 pair
of platforms shoes, all colors, all styles, all indecently hot. I wondered if it
was enough. Then the skirts, hung neatly above the boots; the micros and the
minis, leather, spandex, cotton, black, red, purple, fuchsia, the whole rainbow.
Then the tops, the tanks, the satin blouses, the silk pullovers. And the pants,
mostly leather, liquid leather, tight and pure, the kind I always wanted and now
the kind that I needed, the kind that I would now selfishly hoard in my very
personal, over-stuffed closet.
When I was done, I stood back and admired my work. My closet was perfectly
organized and looked wonderful. I felt so much more secure knowing I had the
right kind of clothing at hand, ready and available whenever I needed it. Then I
threw off my hot pants and thong panties, laid on the bed, and, while staring
into my slutty closet, I masturbated myself into exhaustion.
I was tired the next day and needed my sugar. I missed my Friend too, but I
didn’t want to think about that. The sugar was having an addictive effect on me,
and I needed its buzz. I called Jeff’s dorm and left a message on his answering
machine; hopefully he would get it and come up to the house that afternoon. I
drank some black coffee, but it didn’t do much good. The sun was bright and it
was a beautiful day, but I felt an ache for the sugar. I also felt an ache
between my legs. My pussy was swollen against my silk thong panties and its
juices were soaking them. I sat lewdly in my kitchen chair, my legs spread,
drinking some black coffee, caressing my pussy, and aching for my sugar. Jeff,
you have to come, you have to come to the house, you must come today, you must
come with the sugar. I focused my brain on those thoughts, hoping somehow, in
some kind of weird ESP, Jeff would get my now desperate message.
I spent the better part of the morning masturbating, then got dressed. I looked
hot in my black liquid leather pants and 5-inch black platforms with gold heels.
I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, but for some reason I knew this was the way I
had to look, today, tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that. It just felt right.
I did my hair, teased it full, and sprayed it. Then I lit a cigarette. I hadn’t
smoked for 5 years, but when I was at the checkout counter yesterday those
Virginia Slims looked perfect for me, and my lungs ached for one. I bought 5
packs and wondered if it was enough for my new craving. I wondered if Jeff would
be upset that I was smoking again. He hadn’t really said anything about my hair
or my nails, but he was sure to notice my new clothes. The guys at the
convenience store noticed. I saw them eyeing my ass in my micro skirt and
platforms; it made my pussy tense inside my thong panties. But Jeff wouldn’t
feel that way; he was my beloved son and my trusted friend and he brought me
that sweet sugar every couple of days. I wondered if I should pay him for it; it
must cost him something, it was so damn good, they couldn’t be making it for
free. My brain — and my pussy — ached for it.
Jeff showed up right on time, late in the afternoon. I breathed heavily in
relief when I saw his car pull into the driveway. I gave him a kiss on the cheek
and we went to the kitchen for our ritual cup of coffee. He told me I looked
good and I blushed. Could he mean it? I looked like an expensive whore, which
was bad enough, but I felt so damn good looking like an expensive whore. But he
couldn’t know that, could he? I loved my leather pants and I hoped he did too,
well enough to feed me my sugar fix. And, just like clockwork, as I was about to
take my first hot sip from the cup, Jeff took out his package of sparkling
powder and shook some into my coffee. I gulped it down as fast as I could,
hoping Jeff wouldn’t notice how fucking desperate I was. I sat there for a
moment, then felt the burn; I was in heaven, a sweet energy engulfed my brain,
and I went black. I don’t remember the rest of the day, just those words, that
now familiar tone, and my Friend, my wonderful Friend, whispering to me,
soothing me, “hot ….. Boy Toy ….. Cunt ….. Slut …… gorgeous …….
Bed ……. Suck.” As usual, I paid no attention to the words and just floated
on the feeling, a feeling of harmonious energy, strong and controlled and
thrilling.
I called Jeff’s dorm when I woke up the next day. Surprisingly, he answered the
phone.
“Hi honey,” I said, “thanks for coming out yesterday. I had a nice time.”
“Great, Alana,” he said. He never called me by my name, but it seemed so natural
now.
“Jeff,” I asked, “what should I wear today?” I have no idea why I was asking him
this, but it seemed as I should.
“What would make you feel good?” he asked.
I knew right away. “My neon pink thong.” I had bought the thong bathing suit
just a few days ago and I don’t think Jeff even knew I had it. I don’t think he
had ever seen me in a bathing suit, much less a thong, and a brazenly indecent
one at that.
“You have the tits for it, Alana?” he asked. That question was so right, and I
knew I had to tell him the truth; my tits had grown, full and round melons now,
perfect for a thong. I had nice breasts before; now I had great tits.
“Yea,” I said, “I have the tits, why don’t you come out and check them out for
yourself before I find a Boy Toy to take care of them.”
“You got yourself a Boy Toy, Alana?” he asked.
I writhed on my bed. My pussy sparked. I instantly realized I had to have a Boy
Toy. There was suddenly a huge hole in my cunt where my Boy Toy’s cock should
be. I felt hopelessly empty.
My voice was throaty now. “No, Jeff, I don’t have a Boy Toy, but I deserve one,
one just for me. Don’t you agree?”
I was snaking over my bed, rubbing my pussy under my robe, moaning, and I could
barely make out what Jeff said. “You want your sugar today, Alana?” he asked.
Jeff’s words struck my brain like a rocket. I convulsed in orgasm, grunting and
heaving. My insides nearly exploded. I collapsed in exhaustion, breathing
heavily on the bed, the phone next to my head. Groggy, I picked it up. “You
there?” I whispered.
“Sure I am, Alana,” Jeff said. “I take it that was a ‘Yes'”.
“Oh, yes, honey, that was a ‘Yes'”, I answered, and hung up in lust.
Tired, exhausted, nearing collapse, I stood up and saw myself in the mirror. My
teased, colored hair was mussed, my mascara was running down my left cheek, my
new robe was ripped, I was panting and half moaning. I was the image of a bitch
in perpetual heat. I ached for my sugar.
Jeff didn’t tell me when he would come. I assumed it would be later in the
afternoon, so I masturbated some more, maybe an hour, thinking about my divine
sugar, and my clothes, and my hair, and my nails, and my slutty ankle bracelets,
then I took a long, soothing shower. I did my hair and my face and put on the
vulgar neon pink thong and some slides. I added a couple of ankle bracelets and
two necklaces, and then checked myself out in the mirror. My breasts were now
melons, full and round, standing high as if they were silicone monsters. I felt
one, and nearly fainted. They were incredibly sensitive and the nipples pushed
hard against the suit. I lit a cigarette and walked, hips swaying like an
experienced hooker, to the soothing patio next to my large, turquoise pool.
I lay down in a chaise lounge and felt the sun on my new slut tits. I felt good,
but not good enough. I had to have some sugar, and my cunt was hopelessly empty.
Why hadn’t I had been fucking and taking care of that hole? I couldn’t
understand it. A woman like me has to fuck and fuck often. I felt like a fool,
and bitches like me aren’t fools. I felt an irresistible compulsion to own a Boy
Toy, to buy a young, terribly healthy stud with a long, thick, pulsing love
shaft, a purple lust rod that would find a permanent home in my soft, yearning
puss. Every night, I thought. Every fucking night. I deserved that, more than
anyone, now and forever. It was my birthright, a cunt like me was born for that,
made for that, thick and long, just for me, every night, on top of me,
thrusting, pounding, so good, so fine. Just for me, yes Me — my selfish,
whorish, bitchy self.
I tried to control my thoughts, I tried to read a magazine, I tried to close my
eyes and doze. But it didn’t do any good, I had changed, my life had changed,
everything was new and different now, a new world for me and my pulsing pussy,
the world of Boy Toys and long nails and platform shoes and cigarettes and
afternoon fucks. My world. A world of magic sugar and magic sex. Yes, I was now
in a magical and mysterious world, a world of warmth and thickness and lips and
juices. I just lay there, under the California sun, a bitch without a cock, a
slut without a dick, a whore without her sugar. I waited as patiently as a slut
could under the circumstances.
By the time Jeff arrived I was in a bitch mood. I had some coffee ready and held
the cup to him for some sugar. He looked at my tits and smiled. I waited
impatiently. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat package full of my
magic potion. I nearly drooled, but patiently let him drop some of the sparkling
powder into my coffee. I almost lept at it and swallowed it all, quickly,
rudely. Soon, a sweet energy filled me, as it always did. It was so good. I was
so good. Life was good again, and Jeff and I went to the patio and sat under a
sun shade and chatted. My tits pulsed under the thong and the sun shone in my
brain. The water reflected the warm sun and I relaxed in the soft patio chair.
I must have smiled, a smile of final contentment. It felt good to be with Jeff
again. Things were beginning to fall into place, a place where I belonged, a
place where I would find my final trashy fullness, my lusting place in the sun,
that perfect place where bitches like me live and thrive and fuck.
But that’s all I remember of Jeff’s visit, as I had another dense and
transcendent blackout. I didn’t worry about the blackouts anymore, they no
longer threatened me, my Friend was indeed a friend, a trusted friend, a voice
with the message I longed to hear, a message I now needed to live. My Friend
soothed me, and talked softly, telling me secrets I don’t remember, secrets I
could never acknowledge, words that were more than words, those powerful words,
those words of instruction and wisdom and release. But I remember little else,
other than the usual random words, words I could never understand, those quiet
words standing alone in my burning memory, deep inside the hidden crevices of my
yearning brain, leading me, teaching me, finding me, saving me, saving me at
last, a woman saved, a woman delivered, a woman for this new stunning world, a
world of magic and sparkling sugar and bitchy whoring liberation, finally and
forever, Me, Alana, megaBitch, Boy Toy bitch, a Bitch triumphant: “Boy Toy …..
Cream …… everyday ….. Whore ….. Jeff ….. Jeff ….. Jeff …… cock.”
I woke up the next morning disoriented and exhausted. I lay on the satin sheets
and tried to open my eyes. I had a new feeling, a feeling between my legs and
down my upper leg. I reached down with my hand and felt gently; a cream, a thick
cream was running out of my pussy down the crack of my ass. I sat up, and moved
over. My sheets were stained, a large puddle where I was laying. I put my finger
between my legs and pulled up a gob of thick, white cream. It was sperm! Tons of
it, everywhere, in my cunt, down my legs, on the sheets. I almost came, but I
held it back. I eagerly used my fingers to pull as much as I could to my mouth
and swallowed it, then licked at the sheets, taking in the sperm’s sweet aroma.
God! It was like a fucking drug! I licked and licked and licked. My tits
strained at my skin, almost bursting, my pussy lips swelled, my lips pouted, my
nostrils flared. I stuck my small wrist into my juiced pussy and fisted myself
into oblivion. God, this is so right, I thought. So fucking right.
I was still confused though. With my blackouts, anyone could have fucked me. I
looked like a whore and acted like a slut, anyone could have come in and taken
me. Would I have said No? I doubted it. Then, the other possibility entered my
slutty mind; Jeff, it could have been Jeff! Would he have used me while I was
under a blackout? Was this the first time? Has he been using me during all my
blackouts? He has been here during every one of them. Is it possible? Then,
without warning, my pussy started to swell, then my hips began to gyrate
involuntarily, my thighs warmed, and my head spun. Out of control, I grunted,
then wailed, and while I held my head in panic a wave of heat gathered in my
thighs, swelled in my belly, and engulfed my pussy, turning it into a
flamethrower of illicit need. I threw my two hands to my cunt and mashed it as
hard as I could, yelling, screaming, howling in an ecstatic agony. As I came all
over my hands, heaving and thrusting like an animal, I then saw it all clearly
and I knew what I had become, what I now was, what I was meant to be, what made
me happy and fulfilled, what made my pussy burn so fucking hot, what made me
into this burning, lusting, shameless sex slave.
I had become Jeff’s whore!
Yes, that is what I was. I knew it, and it didn’t even bother me. It might have
bothered me a month ago, but not now. Things are different now. I’m a full woman
now, a real woman, rich and spoiled, with slut tits and a full, swollen pussy.
And I have the Boy Toy I deserve, and plenty of the divine sugar to go along
with it. My friends have changed too. All the rich bitches have dumped me, and
for obvious reasons. Once they saw their husbands drooling over me they were
history as far as any further social life went. Gina and Jan are still friends
and we hang out and talk hair and nails and clothes. I even give Gina some sugar
now and then, and it’s no surprise she does my hair for free these days. She’s
been hitting on me, and wants to fuck me so bad, but that’s not for me, sorry
foxy Gina. No, I belong to my Boy Toy, my little Jeff, my beloved son with the
buff pecs, and that magic sugar, and a thick, young cock. I need to be owned and
Jeff and his Boy Toy dick own me. Jeff moved out of his dorm and lives at home
now. He still goes to college, and will get his degree on time, and when he
graduates I’m sure he will find a good job close to his new, permanent home in
my spacious pool house quiet and serene in the Los Angeles hills.sitevkmusic-5цены на создание сайтовкредитная карта сбербанка срок действия